Political Prisoner

You came to me in the wake of a shattering.
Then, with me.
It didn't seem like much, at first -
though the small talk afterwards was jarring.
And then events transpired,
and it turns out they were scarring,
but you didn't mind at all,
because you had faith that I was strong.

And then you drew me out of myself,
and I went along,
Because you were safe, and new, and right.
Sure, there was the odd disagreement,
A clash here, a sombre fight.
Then you'd rebuild.
Well, we'd rebuild.

It didn't fade or falter,
and nothing hurt
beneath your halter.

And then you made me into something
something beautiful and righteous and pure.
You poisoned me with self-esteem,
with hope and false allure.
You took my rhyme, my reason,
my darkness.
You bound me up in shining chains,
And I blazed.

Oh, how I blazed. I blazed brilliantly.
But that fire waned.

I was a political prisoner.
Hostage to the ideal.
You'd built me up to be a god,
And if I didn't suit the part,
you'd shame the state you'd put me in,
And it destroyed my heart.

I'm not perfect.
Never was or will be.
You were right about a lot of things.
Love, and strength, and dragon rings.
You were wrong about what I needed,
though.
To be free.

Things are different now.
My chains are broken.
You still come to me in the night,
occasionally.
In dreams or in flesh.
You're still just as fresh,
but the scarring over all is strong,
and us, well -
we just don't belong.

I did my very best, and I owe you my thanks.
Sometimes I mourn,
but not for long.